The Light at the End of the Tunnel
by Vivien Lestrange
Summary: Rodolphus' part in the Battle of the Seven Potters


**Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter and no money is being made with this story.**

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_**The Light at the End of the Tunnel**_

**Chapter 1 Fighting for Her**

I had always been an awful flyer.

My first flying lesson at Hogwarts ended in the Hospital Wing and I didn't grow much better afterwards. There wasn't really a chance to practice in Azkaban after all.

Therefore, taking part in a battle fought on broomsticks hundreds of feet across the ground was very high on my list of most stupid things I had ever done in life.

Staying on that broomstick and ditching the curses cast by the Order members was more than enough for me. My actual part in capturing Potter if we succeeded in doing so would definitely be minimal.

If I had stayed at Malfoy Manor preparing remedies for the injuries the others would most likely be facing, I could have been of much more use. The Dark Lord disagreed however. To him, my healing skills didn't even seem to exist. Thus, I was here in the midst of this aerial battle, glad that most enemies were keener on escaping than on attacking us.

Bellatrix was determined not to allow one particular enemy to do so however. Nymphadora Tonks was her disgraced sister's half-blood daughter and Bellatrix wanted to see her dead. Ever since the Dark Lord had been humiliating her in front of all Death Eaters by telling everyone about her sister's blood treason she wanted nothing more than to take their life, cleanse this stain on her family tree.

He did this again and again, each word hurting her so deeply. And I could do nothing but stand there and watch. This woman had sacrificed everything for him. Everything.

To him however, she didn't mean more than some Mudblood from the Order of the Phoenix. He had actually treated Lily Potter with more respect before killing her if what I had heard was the truth.

Bellatrix was firing curse after curse at the half-blood, throwing insults in between. Projecting our self-hatred onto others, we both excelled in that.

The girl held herself well, though. She was an Auror and a Black after all. Bellatrix would hate me for thinking the latter, but it was the truth. The heritage of one Mudblood wouldn't destroy the power cultivated over so many generations. The children of a Lestrange and a Mudblood always possessed the abilities typical for our family though they weren't given the right to bear that name of course.

The boy who may or may not have been Potter returned. Carrow had been chasing him, but he had escaped or defeated him, I didn't know which. He obviously didn't consider me a threat, a conclusion that wasn't particularly unfounded, but jumped to Nymphadora'a aid. Bellatrix had to fight two of them now.

The young Auror used the chance to a send a flash of purple light into my direction. It belonged to a rather nasty spell from the Aurors' arsenal.

I cast a shield charm and was lucky, it held. Good that I had my Hawthorne wand back which served me loyally.

The boy was fighting better than I'd have expected. Maybe it was Potter after all. Bellatrix resorted to her mock baby voice again, a behaviour that was probably more disturbing to me than to her opponents. "Does little baby Potter miss his Godfather?"

The boy's anger increased and he send spell after spell at her, forcing her to focus on him. Nymphadora made a slashing movement with her wand. She didn't speak the spell aloud, but I recognised the gesture. Bellatrix however, did not. Her eyes were still on the boy.

My aim while sitting on a broomstick wasn't good enough to block this curse. There was only one chance. I did a very quick flying manoeuvre I normally wouldn't have thought I was capable of, and for a moment, stood between the two witches.

The curse hit me right away. Something warm was running down my belly. Probably blood. There was pain, I might have been screaming, I wasn't sure. Dizziness was overcoming me. Remaining on that broomstick became harder and harder.

I cast one last look into Bellatrix' direction. She was still fighting her half-blood niece and the boy. It would have been foolish of her to let herself be distracted of course, but I still wanted to look into her eyes one more time. Some sort of recognition that I had probably just saved her life.

There was nothing.

My hands couldn't hold onto the handle of the broomstick anymore. I was falling into the darkness.

Those of my patients who had been saved right before they would have died had told me about a dark tunnel with a light shining on its end. No one could ever tell me what was to be found at the end of that tunnel.

I'd know very soon now.

The fall seemed to take ages. Maybe it did because when I finally hit the ground, it wasn't much different from falling to the ground because of some sort of curse.

Something, maybe my magic, must have slowed down the fall.

Far above me, I saw the multicoloured lights from various spells used by the fighters. It was impossible to see how Bellatrix was doing though.

And then the pain set in. Unbearable pain that seemed to radiate from my abdomen to the rest of my body.

It was a kind of pain different from that of the Cruciatus curse because there was really something wrong with my body. This didn't make in any easier to endure though.

At least not without magical help. I had mastered the magical techniques necessary to take my mind of any pain that I experienced, a useful skill if you were dealing with the Dark Lord on a regular basis.

I used it almost automatically as I had trained myself to do. At least, this enabled me to think coherently. Muggles whose moral principles didn't allow them to actively torture their prisoners tended to leave such wounds untreated to make the prisoner talk so he'd get help. A quite promising approach I thought.

Thinking something which might actually get me out of this situation proved much more difficult. This kind of wound was easy do deal with for anyone with rudimentary magical healing skills. The person didn't even have to be a trained Healer, someone like Snape would be more than enough. He was very familiar with this spell anyway. Yet, Snape wasn't here and the Dark Lord would surely not send him for my sake.

Someone might come to pick me up if they noted I wasn't with them but I couldn't be sure about that either. If they had Potter, the Dark Lord would keep everyone watching while he killed him. If they did not, he'd probably think letting me die was an appropriate punishment for this failure.

It was quite possible that I'd die here; there was no point in denying that. The thought wasn't bothering me too much. I had never understood the Dark Lord's fear of death. In the course of my work, I had seen quite a few people leave this world. Staying by the side of those who had no one else used to be part of my duty. The ones I had been able to call back often hadn't been too glad about that.

I looked up at the sky once again. There was nothing there but darkness. They were gone and there was no trace of anyone searching for me. No one would.

My techniques threatened to fail me and in the end, they did. I had tortured so many, probably this was a suitable way for me to go.

This was the last coherent thought I had before being completely engulfed by pain and fever and despair.


End file.
